


Damning The Devil

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Demon Dean Winchester, Episode: s10e22 The Prisoner, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Season/Series 10, Violent Dean Winchester, in 10.22, kinda alternate?, loosely inspired by that one scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 11:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18570079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "The Dean you know is dead." He replied, voice steady. He ran his tongue over his teeth, swiping a bit of the blood off, before twisting his lips into a smile; a smile from a nightmare. Dean was sure Castiel could ramble on and on about how it wasn't normal, about how it was a distorted expression being controlled by the monster in Dean; the monster that was the same thing that he was. "He's never coming back."





	Damning The Devil

**Author's Note:**

> this was birthed from staying up til 6:00 one morning and listening to too much fall out boy

Blood stained his hands, slicking the hilt of the silver blade down to the point where it almost slipped from his grasp. It smelled; the pungent odor of the sweet, coppery liquid burning his nostrils. It was so strong; it broke through the layers of snot in his nostrils. He could feel blood trickling down his neck, spilling from both of his ears, but paid no mind to it. That was only a secondary effect of having slain a celestial. So was the ringing in his ears, which just so happened to go hand in hand with the blood.

"D- Dean?" His eyes snapped open; he hadn't even realized they were closed in the first place. Licking his lips, tasting a whirlwind of things; salty from the sweat, and snot. There was also the possibility of tears being mixed into that group, but he would deny it if anyone ever asked him about it. The fresh, coppery flavor the metallic tang of the blood spilling from his nose and mouth wasn't necessarily a pleasant taste swirling around in his mouth. "Dean. Drop the blade."

His head turned around slowly, neck twitching in just the slightest. He didn't feel the way his hands were trembling; even if he did, he tried to ignore it. He wasn't prepared for when his eyes met the all too familiar eyes, the shade of blue piercing through him. He had never seen the angel's true form, but if he had anything to say about it, Castiel's vessel's eyes were truly a sliver of the beauty that an angel's true form really was. It was such a fucking cliche; to say that he'd get lost in them, except, when you really thought about it, they weren't the angel's eyes. Just a vessel's.

"Please." The syllable ripped him back to reality; back to the present, where the angel was standing in front of him, wielding a silver blade identical to the one in his hand, though Castiel's wasn't bloodstained. "This isn't you in control, Dean."

"The Dean you know is dead." He replied, voice steady. He ran his tongue over his teeth, swiping a bit of the blood off, before twisting his lips into a smile; a smile from a nightmare. Dean was sure Castiel could ramble on and on about how it wasn't normal, about how it was a distorted expression being controlled by the monster in Dean; the monster that was the same thing that he was. "He's never coming back."

"I know that's not true. You're still in there, Dean." Nobody else would have been able to catch it, but he heard Castiel's voice tremble just the slightest on his name. The irony in that was not lost on him; the man that the angel had rebelled for, died for, and killed for, trembling under the realization that he might actually have to kill the man he loved. It was honestly too fucking funny.

Dean snorted, wiping a drop of blood trickling down his neck from it. "Like I said; the Dean you knew- the one you loved-" He said the word like a mock, rolling his eyes as he did so. "Is gone. He's never coming back."

Castiel's expression dropped momentarily; the blade in his hand loosening from his grip. He took this as his time to lunge towards the angel, silver knife in hand. Castiel barely had time to react before it plunged into his vessel's chest, the blast of white light blasting from his chest blinding Dean. The angel hissed in pain as Dean pulled the knife out, before plunging it in again, squinting his eyes shut.

At any point, Castiel could've thrown Dean off of him and killed him to save himself; but of course, he didn't. He barely moved as Dean plunged the blade in a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth, but that could've been because he was already dead. Dean couldn't be sure; his hearing was already fucked from slaughtering the other angels before, and his eyes were closed so his eyes wouldn't be seared out by Castiel's grace.

Dean wasn't sure how many times he'd plunged the blade in by the time he opened his eyes; probably somewhere around twenty, give or take. He stared at the mangled body below him, barely recognizing the body as the one of the vessel Castiel was possessing. His vessel's blue eyes stared unblinking at the ceiling, the blue that could've only been a sliver of the angel's grace was faded and dull. The shadows of wings were seared into the floor, a black that seemed to be nothing but oblivion.

Dean rose from the ground, knees trembling underneath him. He stared at the dead angel- his dead angel- below him, the blade slipping to the ground as he let out a small gasp, as if he was just now realizing what he had done.

He was back to normal in almost a blink of an eye, though; a blink of his eyes, at least. The shade of green that his eyes once were replaced by a black almost the exact same shade as the one of the wings.

The slightest tingle of regret he might have felt after seeing Castiel dead- after seeing Castiel's blood satin his hands- was evanescent, much unlike the angel's lifespan, and definitely drastically different in comparison to how long Castiel had loved Dean; the Dean he had known and grown to limerence with- not the monster that had replaced Dean.

But in reality, there was no monster in Dean. There was nothing in him controlling him. There was just himself, fulfilling the craving he had been having for months; the urge to kill. Because the demon in him wasn't a whole other entity; it _was_ him.

**Author's Note:**

> i might be posting a book soon idk tho it depends on if i write it all before posting it lmao


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